Chapter Three
Two hours later, Mike sat in the dark living room, nursing a fantastic scotch and staring at the thick file Greg Lambert left him. There was enough light streaming in from the moon to keep him mellow.
He’d agreed to take the job. What choice did he have?
He didn’t need to open the file to know exactly who he’d been tasked with protecting. Connecticut had two senators, and only one of them had a daughter who was an assistant district attorney. The second he had his hands on the paperwork, his vacation was history, and his world would forever change course.
“Fuck,” he repeated to the room at large for the tenth time. He ran a hand through his hair and took another sip of the scotch. He needed a haircut. It was overdue. Random thoughts to avoid the elephant in the room. As long as he left that folder sitting on the coffee table, its contents remained a secret.
Oh, who was he kidding?
Finally, he gave in. No way would he be able to sleep anyway with that damn file folder waiting for his attention.
Setting his glass on the end table, he reached for the folder and dragged it onto his lap. With a deep breath, he turned on the light next to him, hating the way it broke through the darkness as if announcing itself as the defining moment when his vacation was officially ruined.
He flipped open the manila folder and picked up the top page.
Senator Richard Carver of Connecticut…
Mike swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue reading and accept this new reality.
Daughter, Zola Carver, Undergraduate—Yale University, pre-law. Law school—Yale University…
It was time to pull his shit together and get his head in the game. Zola was in danger. She needed him. He could no more have turned this job down than he could have cut off his own right arm.
For long moments, he read that first page, learning everything he could about Senator Carver and his daughter before dropping the paper on top of the stack. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Senator Carver had spent years lobbying to make it more difficult for terrorists to infiltrate the US. Among other things, the man obviously spent his life fighting against the ease with which terrorists were able to get into the US, purchase property, travel between states, and even acquire weapons.
Mike shuddered. At least he agreed with the man on his politics concerning this issue. Mike had spent too many nights on two tours of duty fighting the same terrorist organizations that were now infiltrating the US on a daily basis. Whether they came into the country under false pretenses or were homegrown, they still represented the same threat.
According to Greg Lambert, there was an imminent threat against the senator and his daughter. Apparently Zola had participated in several court cases against terrorists.
He hadn’t spoken to Zola in twelve years, not since they both left for college. He cringed remembering their final evening together. Best night of his life. Even more than a decade later, he still counted that night as the most important.
After downing the contents of his glass, he reached for the bottle of scotch and poured himself a refill. Leaning back in the armchair, he closed his eyes and let his mind travel down memory lane. He didn’t often indulge in prolonged thoughts of Zola, but tonight he felt he had no choice.
He needed to face his past. Tomorrow.
He groaned inwardly as he remembered their final night together. The night he’d lost his virginity. And she hers. The last time he’d spoken to her. The last time he’d communicated with her at all.
He was a dick.
If he had an ounce of common sense, he would call Greg Lambert and tell him there was no way in hell he could take this job. The moment he walked into Zola’s life, she was likely to slam the door in his face.
On the flip side, what choice did he have? No way was he going to turn the job over to someone else. What if that guy couldn’t keep her safe? He would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to Zola.
Nope.
This was on him. He needed to swallow his pride, go to her house, face her head-on, and then, when all the pleasantries were over, he needed to protect her with his own life.
Not one damn thing would happen to Zola Carver on his watch.
Ever.
She might not like it, but the truth was he was good at his job. One of the best. It didn’t matter that he’d left the SEALs three years ago. His training was ingrained in him.
It had taken over a year for him to gain full use of his left knee after replacement surgery and therapy, but he’d come back. He was as fit today as he’d been on tour. The new knee wasn’t perfect. It sometimes ached. He often worked himself too hard. But when push came to shove, he could ignore the lingering pain and do what needed to be done.
Keeping Zola alive needed to be done.
His adrenaline already pumped through his system. He’d told Lambert he needed a day or two to sort his shit. But no fucking way was he wasting another day with Zola’s life on the line. He would arrange to meet with her first thing tomorrow, deal with her wrath, and move on to the part where he kept her ass alive.
No matter what.
* * *
At eleven o’clock the following morning, Mike took a deep breath, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and lifted one hand to knock on the door to Zola’s condo.
Luckily, he’d gotten the first flight out of Norfolk that morning and rented a car in Hartford for the drive down to New Haven. Meanwhile, Lambert had informed Zola that her bodyguard was due to arrive before noon.
Apparently, she had rearranged her busy schedule to meet with Mike at her condo.
Mike hadn’t said a word to Lambert concerning his previous relationship with the woman he was supposed to protect. He had no way of knowing if Lambert had given his name to Zola or simply told her someone would be arriving to provide protection.
Even though Mike had faced off with more enemies than he could count during two tours, most of whom would have given their own wife and children to ensure Mike was killed, he’d never been as nervous as he was at this moment.
Twelve long years.
A lifetime.
What the hell was he about to face?
He flinched when he heard the handle of the door turning before it opened.
And then the world stopped spinning.
There she was. In the flesh. The girl he’d loved more than himself for more than two years in their teens. The girl he’d pledged to never forget. The girl who’d given him her heart and her virginity.
She blinked, her body stiff, her fingers white where she held the doorframe too tightly. “Mike?”
She was every bit as gorgeous as she’d been twelve years ago.
No. That was a lie. She was so much prettier now. Wiser. Older. Cultured. An adult. Definitely no longer a girl.
Her strawberry-blond hair might have been a shade darker, but her skin was just as smooth and pale. And her eyes… Shit. That color of green had mesmerized him every time he’d looked at her.
He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Zola.” He couldn’t help but let his gaze roam up and down her body. She was even sexier than he remembered too. More filled out. A woman. Her hips were wider. Her breasts fuller. Even her face was softer.
She’d been too skinny when they were younger. She was fucking amazing today.
“What are you doing here?” She glanced past him. “I’m expecting…” Her gaze jerked back to his. She swallowed. “I’m expecting you, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” He continued to stand outside her door, letting her acclimate to the knowledge that he was back in her life, information he’d had for thirteen hours. Information she had a right to process. Obviously she hadn’t been expecting him.
He forced deep breaths, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. He didn’t want to cross his arms and create a subconscious barrier between them.
Seconds ticked by. She blinked, staring at him. Her gaze also wandered up and down his body. “You look good,” she whispered, though he wasn’t sure she intended to say that out loud.
“You do too, Zola. May I come in?” he prompted.
“Right. Of course.” She stepped back, releasing the doorframe and opening the door wider.
He stepped past her, entering her home for the first time. The deep breath he took for fortification was a mistake. Every memory crashed back around him as her scent reached deep into his soul.
Zola stepped around him, notably not touching him.
Could he blame her?
“Come in.” She headed deeper into her space, leaving him to watch her from behind.
For a moment, he simply stood frozen, staring at her fantastic ass encased in a pencil skirt. The spike heels she wore made her legs even longer than he remembered.
At eighteen, she had already carried herself with an air of importance, having been bred to keep her shoulders back and her head high. At thirty, she had clearly perfected the art.
He reminded himself she was a lawyer. And not just any lawyer. She was already an assistant district attorney in the New Haven office. Did her job play a role in the threats to her life? Lambert and the file had suggested as much.
As he glanced around her condo, he wondered how she could afford such a nice place. No doubt she barely made a passing wage from the district attorney’s office. And this condo was worth more than she could afford. Of course, her father was a state senator who came from money.
Zola headed straight for the kitchen that was attached to the living room, separated only by a dining area. The layout was modern and the design was sleek. It had been remodeled at some point, undoubtedly knocking out walls to open up the space.
She rounded the breakfast bar, still not speaking, and grabbed the coffee pot, filling two mugs before lifting her gaze. “Do you still take it black?”
“Yes.” He nearly choked on the word. She remembered how he took his coffee?
After she slid one mug across the counter to where he stood on the other side, she lifted her own with both hands and took a sip. Did she need the caffeine to give her strength? Or was she hiding behind the mug as a defensive strategy?
“You’re working for the district attorney,” he commented to break the ice.
“Yes. It’s not a glamourous job, but it’s where my heart lies. Of course, the CIA seems to think one or more of the people I’ve helped convict may be directly or indirectly attempting to kidnap me. I’ll tell you right now, I don’t buy it.”
He lifted a brow. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Lawyers get threats all the time. It’s part of the job. Mine is no different from anyone else’s.”
Ah, so she wanted to cut right to the chase. “I’m under the impression the threats coming to you have more to do with your father’s position as senator than your own work.”
“Yes. That’s what they tell me.” She rolled her eyes. “My father has been working hard on legislature that would help us indict more suspected terrorists in civilian court. Nevertheless, it’s a stretch.”
Mike took a sip of the steaming coffee and set the mug on the counter. “With all due respect, Zola, a clandestine section of the CIA hired me under the table to protect your life. I’m inclined to take that very seriously. Would it be possible for us to operate under the assumption that the government doesn’t throw money away for no good reason and assume they must have sufficient evidence to support my standing in your kitchen today?” He forced himself to keep his voice level. It was an art. Though it was admittedly difficult while facing his childhood sweetheart—a woman with a possible death wish.
Zola stared at him for long moments, her expression giving nothing away. Finally, she sighed, at the same time allowing her shoulders to sag. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that someone would like to kidnap or even kill me, are you planning to follow me around indefinitely until this terrorist is apprehended?” She visibly shuddered as though the thought of spending even two minutes in Mike’s company gave her goosebumps.
Mike set his hands on her counter and leaned forward, waiting until he had her full attention—her gaze fixed on his—before he spoke again. He was a little put off by her flippant attitude. “Actually, Zola, my plan would be to kill the motherfucker who dares to threaten you with my bare hands sooner rather than later.”
Zola gasped, her mouth falling open.
He didn’t intend to get defensive, but his next words couldn’t be interpreted any other way. “So, yes. I do indeed intend to latch on to your side for the foreseeable future until the threat is dispelled. But, as it turns out, I’m pretty good at my job. So you won’t have to worry about my disruption in your life for any longer than absolutely necessary.”
Her lips slowly closed, and she licked across the bottom one and then the top one.
It was all he could do to keep from moaning at the fullness of those rosy lips. Lips he remembered tasting more times than he could count as if the last such occurrence had been yesterday.
“I’m in the middle of a case,” she pointed out, her voice holding far less conviction than a minute ago.
“And I’m under the impression your boss, the district attorney, has been informed of your situation and is prepared to deal with your temporary absence from the office with the understanding you will continue to work remotely and check in twice daily. I got us a burner phone, and you can use my secure computer. You’ll need to leave yours behind in case they’re bugged.”
Mike had done his homework. He’d studied her file cover to cover. He’d spoken with Lambert early that morning and then again on his way to her condo.
Zola closed her eyes as she took another sip of her coffee. Finally, she set it down, seemingly resigned. “Fine. What’s the plan?”
Without flinching, he spoke. “I have a vacation home I’ve been renting for the month. We could return there if you’d like, or if you have another destination in mind, I’ll let go of my rental and we can make other plans.”
“Where?”
“Norfolk.”
“Virginia?”
“Is there another?” he teased, forcing a small smile.
She narrowed her gaze. “It’s just that it’s February. And it’s cold. You chose a beach property in the Northeast? Why not Florida or San Diego?”
Mike shrugged. “I don’t mind the cold. And I’m not the sort of person who needs to surf or lie in the sun. I just wanted peace and quiet for a month or two before taking my next assignment.”
“How long did that last?”
“Four days.”
She winced. “Shit. Bummer.”
“Is it?” He lifted a brow. The way he saw it currently, there was every possibility this working vacation wouldn’t suck at all. He was going to spend countless days with a woman he once loved more than himself. Unless she had undergone a drastic personality change, he intended to enjoy every moment of her company.
A slow smile spread across Zola’s face. “Jury’s still out on that one.”